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"
The sallow-faced little man with the tired look bowed courteously,
begged his guests to be seated, and pushed toward them a box of
cigarettes.
"Now, my Calabressa," said he, "to the point. As you guess, I am pressed
for time. Seven days hence will find me in Moscow."
"In Moscow!" exclaimed Calabressa. "You dare not!"
Granaglia waved his hand a couple of inches.
"Do not protest. It may be your turn to-morrow. And my good friend
Calabressa would find Moscow just about as dangerous for him as for me."
"Monsieur le Secretaire, I have no wish to try. But to the point, as you
say. May one ask how it stands with Zaccatelli?"
Granaglia glanced at the Englishman.
"Of course he knows everything," Calabressa explained instantly. "How
otherwise should I have brought him with me?"
"Well, Zaccatelli has received his warning."
"Who carried it?"
"I."
"You! You are the devil! You thrust your head into the lion's den!"
The black-eyed, worn-faced little man seemed pleased. An odd, dry smile
appeared about the thin lips.


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